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Am I Coming or Going?

I was glad it was Mother’s Day last Sunday because I knew I’d be running a prior Mom’s Day post, thereby not needing to actually write. What a relief.

Lately I’m so busy I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. That saying has some truth to it. I’m decent at multitasking but this is getting ridiculous. (And I’m not even due to write my Things I Find Ridiculous column.)

Preparing for our animal spay/neuter mission in Mykonos, Greece next week has been time consuming but I’ve also been attempting (rather pitifully) to plant some annuals and power wash my patio.

My backyard minus the annuals

Although I’ve yet to buy any impatiens, half my patio stone looks awesomely clean. The other half still harbors a layer of winter moss. In other words, I stopped power washing when I ran out of gas (the power washer, not me) and subsequently neglected to refill it. So the washer has taken up residence in the corner of my patio, sort of like the moss.

What’s keeping me hopping most, though, are feral cats — trapping, sterilizing, returning or relocating them while answering 2-3 hours of phone calls and emails each day until — you got it — I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Mostly I think I’m going. Take last week, for instance…

I met volunteers to help feed a colony of 30 cats, relocated 4 cats to 2 different yards, played tennis, worked out, met my nephew’s finance’s family for dinner, helped rescue 3 ferals from a shelter 2 hours away, searched for and found an abandoned domestic kitty, collected then distributed a large shipment of donated cat food, trapped at 10 p.m. one night, then 7 a.m. the next morning. And that’s just a partial list.

Now don’t get me wrong. I enjoy what I’m doing but lately I feel a bit more scattered than usual. Probably because my To-Do list is entering Volume II. And just when my plate is overflowing, my phone rang early one morning. That’s never a good thing. Someone either died or I’m needed for a cat issue. Thankfully it was the latter — this time a woman with 20 unaltered ferals. Emphasis on unaltered. Hence, 20 of them. (And counting.)

The woman lives in Oakland where 18 people have been murdered within 4 months, not to mention dozens of wounded survivors. So it wasn’t surprising she’s having trouble finding someone willing (or stupid enough) to help her.

Meet Ms. Stupid

When I agreed to come over, the woman warned me to be careful of her neighbor who she believes is killing the cats. She nonchalantly tells me, “He might jump you.” Say what?!

Since my self defense only consists of pepper spray and the police whistle I purchased moments after hanging up the phone, I called my friend Hilary and asked, “Hey, whatcha doin’ tomorrow?”

Hilary

Yeah, I know. I should have warned her first. But since nobody messes with Hilary I figured I could throw her in the path of the jumpy neighbor and save myself. What can I say? I have a high survival instinct.

Luckily, I didn’t need to use my human shield nor my other self defense items. Turns out Mr. Jumpy wasn’t home so we caught 10 of the 20 ferals. I’m sure my luck won’t hold out for the next visit so I’m considering adding homemade Peanut Butter Cup Brownies to my arsenal.

After eating just one of these decadent treats, Mr. Jumpy should enter into a sugar coma, giving me enough time to safely get in, trap the remaining 10 cats, then quickly get out. But just in case, I think I’ll bring Hilary.